faderift | Got no credit and I got no fear

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Got no credit and I got no fear

WHO: Sera ~~Mai Bhalsych of Korse~~ and OPEN
WHAT: Sera comes back to Skyhold
WHEN: Last few weeks of Drakonis
WHERE: All over Skyhold
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thepenguinred

Herald's Rest

While her room's been mysteriously stolen by a mysterious shiteface, the tavern is still Sera's home in Skyhold. Drinking, playing cards, trying to avoid the weirdly intense gaze of the lady bard, Sera can be found doing them all now that she's finally back. As the night goes on the cheating becomes more flagrant and the stories louder, accompanied by wider and more dramatic arm flailing and occasional reenactments. Eventually, she tells the Tale Of The Time Cassandra Punched a Bear's Heart Out And It Got All Over The Herald's Clothes And I Laughed Then Shot Other Bears With Arrows. During her demonstration of the punch, she throws her hand back a little too hard and fast, hitting someone or knocking a drink over. But dealing with that has to wait until the story's done.

Out and About

Sera hadn't spent much time in the old fortress since she'd had to go off on Very Important Jenny Business (Possibly Involving Fire Ants and Honey), so it's time to get to know the place by the back of her hand again before starting up her services to the local community. Every hidden passage and unlocked (and unoccupied locked) room gets poked and prodded as the week goes on. All expect for one very specific room where she knows Creepy Cole likes to linger in, like some stupid ghost of the attic. Unless there's a juicy conversation to be overheard, she doesn't bother with stealth, just walking in and up to anything and anyone that strikes her. Anyone looking particularly servant-like will be getting chatted up whether the like it or not, along with most everyone else she comes across.

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"Mm."

It's the very last bit that has her interest.

"And what were you, than, pretty?"

"An Antivan Crow." Which means much or little depending upon one's familiarity with the organization at the time. Less dangerous now for how he's been hamstringing them over the years but- ten years ago? A vicious player in Antivan politics. "You take a contract, you fill the contract, you take your cut and wait for the next job. It was a comfortable life- but a gilded cage is still a cage, yes?"

"Not a happy birdie, if you ended up with the dog lord lot."

The Ferelden Jenny's played rough, that was no secret. Closer to their assassin roots than most other branches. But they were no crows. Recruiting the poor to help was their thing, not shaping kids into killers.

"So. If you wanted out, were you a real one?"

"None of them are truly happy- they simply know nothing else- or are too aware of the consequences for attempting to fly off on their own." Less clipped wings and more death. Loyalty to the Crows- he'd felt it for years. It was what he was, who he was, until he learned that perhaps he could feel more. Be more.

Then it had been cut away and he wished to feel nothing.

"I was an excellent Crow, to be certain. One of the best of House Arainai. I could be a terrible shit about it as well- that was my undoing. Among other political maneuvers I was not aware of at the time. But I was as real of a Crow one could be until I was spared."

"Real's a shit word, ain't it?"

Sera, as always, skims the reply and picks out the words she wants.

"Not real elves, are we? Boots and city lives and all. But humans think we're as elfy as the inky tits. So. Real elves. Suppose that's how I ended up leaving Denerim. Got sick of so many knowing what I really was, when I didn't want none of it. Blegh."

She makes a face, then waves over for another round.

"Blah, blah, life's shit all around, right? Nothing but what we are now that matters."

"Being an elf is why the Crows chose me, I suppose. Humans find us attractive." And it is easy to sneak about when you look like one of many servants in the household. "But aside from that? I consider myself Antivan first. I cannot think of a City elf that has had a similar life to mine aside from, perhaps, their being a Crow as well."

Though if they weren't one of his and they were a Crow? They were probably dead. Or. About to be dead.

"At least you do not have this-" He taps the tattoo on his cheek. "Any human sees an elf with a tattoo and thinks 'Dalish'. Some Dalish see the tattoo and think 'weird northern Dalish'. I have had several attempt to count me as one of 'The People' or a 'Proper Elven Hero' I am an elf. I failed to die during the blight. I am not their hero."

He is no one's hero.

"True enough."

"Not your pick, huh?"

She could respect that. Life was shit. Things happen, a lot of them not what you wanted, out in the city. Any city. But a city elf not wanting face ink- or having it for reasons past themselves- would be easier to swallow than some non-dalish trying to chase after being a 'real' elf. That such a 'real' could exist made her sick.

"Fair enough."

"The Crows like to mark their property." That was what he had been. But now? Life is...better. He is free. He makes his own choices, does what he likes with his body. "So. If you are not of an alienage and dislike 'elfy' stuff as much as I- is there a story there? Or should we get another round and oogle the seving girls as they walk by?"

"Oh, not much. Left at a Chantry door with half a locket 'round my neck. Y'know how orphan life goes."

She is trying to keep a straight face with that story. Trying...and making it a whole two second before the smile starts to break through again.

"With a portrait of your mother hidden inside?" He manages to hold a somber expression for a moment longer before crackling into laughter.

"Might be. Mysterious lady in a crown with a rune-"

Nope, he ruined it. She joins in the laughing. Stories were all nice, but for the most part orphan just meant parents that were dead and eating out of the rubbish 'till you had a skill worth pedaling.

"Weak! Pfft, broke way too early. Had a whole bit 'bout a birthmark on my tit shaped like a wolf. Wasted."

"I know what book that is from! It is an Antivan Folk tale- you cannot spin me children's stories and not be laughed at- though the birthmark was on the hip and of a drakolisk." Ah, such is the way of things.

"Born in dog-country, wasn't I? Ah- probably? Not like I remember it. Was a wee bitty one here, anyway."

She scratched her head for a moment then shrugged. Who knew! Not her. Ever her age was more of a vague guessing game. Nothing worth fussing over.

"But there was talk of titties."

A fact for a fact. "I was born in a brothel somewhere near the docks of Antiva City."

Maker only knows what manner of woman his mother might have been, what manner of man his father. He waves the next round over, turning to peer more into the crowd than at Sera. "There was indeed. Tell me- large and soft or do you prefer a pleasant handful?"

"Hehe, not much point in being picky, yeah? If they're not a fright to talk with."

Because Sera being quiet? Never. And it wasn't fun just hearing her own voice all night.

"Like the singer here. Such thing as being a bit too keen."

Zev may have heard Sera Was Never once or twice. Not so much flattering as creepy when she and the girl had never so much as chatted.

"I had wondered about that. Did you two..." He gestures, the motion of fingers and wrist vague and utterly obscene simultaneously.

It's a skill.

She's going to keep that one in mind. For future use.

"Not even once. Or chatted at that. It's freaky. Not much for people falling for some idea of a person."

"It can be useful in certain situations. I have played up such things before in the past but- outside of work? Very odd." He lifts his glass to her. "You have my sympathies."

"Blegh, never make it your kinda work."

Sera? Not being good at lying and taking orders? This must come as such a shock. But she lifts her glass then takes a drink, too.

"I do not do much of that anymore, to be honest." He likes being himself instead of an idea. It fits him better.

"Good. Makes my skin itchy thinking of it."

Hiding who you were. Blegh. Hit a little too close to home from years and years ago for her not to make another face at it.

"Bad for the souly bits. But maybe you could let Ms. Chripy Bird bard in on that bit."

"There is also the most novel thought of all- telling her to quit. Or I could tell her it is not so fine a thing as she might think it to be." That may or may not result in a more refined version of the ballad- but while the work was being done perhaps they might have a break.

"Do what you like. I'll just be here. Away from the weird."

It may be creepy, but it wasn't actually hurting anyone. Sera can bitch, but not actually go and try to stop someone's fun. But she really, really, can bitch.

"Surprised you don't have some following creepin' up on us, yourself."

"People know what it is they have when it comes to me." He shrugs. "Fun for a night and little more. There are no misconceptions."

After all- it does not count if it is done with him. That is the rumor and it is more than enough to satisfy his need for privacy and partners with no expectations.

"Whatever gets you goin', suppose."

A one shouldered shrug as all this talk of the bard and things makes her wave for another round with the other hand. Drinking solved almost as many problems as it caused.

"Better way to spend time then fretting over when the end'll come like half these bastards."

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